


Protection Detail

by farad



Category: Chaos - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "The Mole", Casey and Billy help Michael deal with Rick getting shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt, 'it might be illegal, but it's also right'
> 
> All mistakes are my very own.

In most countries, what Casey was thinking was illegal.

Which was part of why he liked the idea of it so very much - that, and the plain simple pleasure of it.

He had slipped into the room silently, suspecting that its two occupants would already be distracted enough not to hear him, and he was right. As he watched, Billy pushed Michael back into the pillows of the bed, his tongue driving deep into Michael's mouth even as his hand slowly fisted Michael's erection.

Rick had been shot - his first on-the-job bad injury - and Michael had run fifteen miles through the sweltering Bolivian night to get help. The clinic, small and lacking resources, had saved Rick's life, the doctor managing to stop the bleeding and stabilize the wound. They'd been picked up by local operatives and transported to San Vicente, to a hospital where Rick had undergone surgery and was now on the mend; they would be flying out tomorrow.

They'd arrived at the hotel hours ago, all of them needing sleep. But Casey knew Michael's rhythms as well as he knew his own and Billy's, and he'd been right. After six hours of sleep, Michael was awake and worrying about all the things that had done wrong. Beating himself up for all the things he could have done differently.

Casey smiled, the muscles of his face pulling at the unusual expression. It was hard not to, though; Billy and Michael were good-looking men, long legs, lean torsos, toned muscles. Billy kept a slight tan, even in the middle of winter, and Michael's paleness was an erotic contrast.

In the office, and most of the time out of it, Michael was their leader - smart, driven, paranoid, he was the one who made most of their group decisions, even down to the pubs they drank in, the restaurants they ate in, and the airlines they used for their off-the-books adventures.

But in the bedroom, he surrendered to them. It had started accidentally; they'd been working together for three years, the four of them – Casey, Carson Simms, Michael, and most recently Billy. Casey had felt the attraction between Billy and Michael from the start – it was hard to miss, the way they glanced at each other, the way they knew what the other was thinking, the way they had started unconsciously gravitating toward each other. Casey was pretty sure that Simms had seen it, too – perhaps not consciously, but he had noticed the way Simms tried to get next to Michael, cutting Billy out. Jealousy – not sexual; as far as Casey could tell, Michael was still emotionally wrapped up in Faye, the bitch, and Carson was a straight arrow, his list of conquests running close to Casey's own.

But the mission where they'd lost Carson had almost torn the team apart – it had almost killed Michael, who Casey had had to knock unconscious; it was the only way to keep him from running into the burning building. For three months after Carson's loss, Michael had been unapproachable – distant, cold, and worse, unwilling to lead them in the field.

Afraid.

When Casey couldn't take it any more, he'd cornered Billy, who'd agreed: they had to push Michael. And it had to be out of the office. Higgins was already looking for an excuse to break up the team and Michael's reluctance to take risks was playing right into his hands. A confrontation between the remaining team members would be all that he needed to pull their plug.

So they'd drawn Michael to the hotel room Billy had been living in at the time, and they'd had it out. It hadn't taken long for it to escalate from rationalizing, to cajoling, to out right yelling.

Then Michael had tried to throw a punch. Casey had caught it easily enough, and cautiously, as it was a friend, he'd let Michael's momentum carry him forward. Billy had caught Michael, one hand on Michael's shoulder, the other at his waist.

Casey had watched them stare at each other, Michael's anger giving way to pain, Billy's frustration giving way to concern. He'd watched Billy tilt his head slightly, searching for something in Michael's face that he must have found because suddenly they were kissing. A gentle, soft touch had turned quickly into a desperate, consuming embrace. When Michael had tugged at his hand, Casey had let it go, knowing what would happen next. He'd been right; Michael might have thought to stop what was happening, but that thought was gone by the time his hand touched Billy.

They'd ended up on the bed, Billy tugging at Michael's clothes, and Casey had stepped in to help. It had started, like now, with Billy and Michael on the bed, Billy doing what needed to be done to overcome any objection from Michael.

And like now, Casey had watched the two of them, the image more sensual and exciting than any high-quality, European porn. Part of it was the visual itself, but the other part of it, perhaps the bigger part of it, was in the way these two men, friends that he knew better than he knew anyone other than himself, became different. Billy, charming, laid-back, go-along-with-anything Scotsman, became demanding and controlling, refusing to let Michael do anything that Billy didn't want him to.

And Michael, willful, strong, and unyielding, did exactly as he was told, opening himself to whatever Billy wanted, responding with no question to words and touches.

Opening himself to Casey in a way that Casey would never have expected. Because Billy willed him to.

As the thought of it crossed his mind, Casey found Billy's eyes on him, one eyebrow arched in question. Casey knew the question, he could hear it in his head, as if Billy were actually speaking instead of trying to suck Michael's tonsils out: 'what the hell are you doing over there, and why the hell are you still dressed?'

Casey nodded once, reaching to unbutton his shirt. He stripped efficiently, folding his clothes with practiced motions and stacking them on a nearby chair. Billy rolled, bringing Michael onto his side, putting his back – with its very muscular and taut backside – toward Casey.

Casey's cock, which had already risen to the occasion, jerked at the sight. Casey himself swallowed, then took a deep breath, holding on to his control. He rarely had this trouble this early in the game, but this was different from the encounters he had with other people. Even Linda, who he was pretty sure he'd loved even though he tried not to think about it, had never left him feeling this out of control, this needy.

There were low moans coming from the bed and Casey watched as Billy's hand eased along Michael's side, over the curve of his hip. Tanned fingers against white skin, skin that had rarely if ever seen the light of the sun – Michael wasn't the type to appreciate nude beaches or naked sunbathing even in his own backyard.

Which was quite the shame except at this precise moment when all Casey could think was that he was one of the very very few people to be able to appreciate this sight. This very private, careful man, was, at this moment, sharing with Casey and Billy. And Billy didn't have this.

The bed shifted as he climbed on to it, and Michael and Billy both looked toward him. Billy smiled, his voice rough as he said, "It's well past time, mate."

Michael, though, said nothing, his eyes heavy-lidded, as though he were drugged, and his lips swollen and shiny. His face was flushed and his hair, normally so tidy, was mussed from Billy's fingers. He was looking over his shoulder, which gave his long neck definition. Casey was hardly aware of leaning down until his lips were on Michael's.

He tasted of whiskey and coffee and exhaustion – and of Billy and Michael and the flavors that were uniquely each of them. For a time, Casey was lost in the kissing itself. As a rule, he could take it or leave it, but with Michael, it was as distracting, as seductive, as everything else about having sex with the man.

When they broke apart for air, Casey found Billy grinning at him, that devilish expression that got under Casey's skin. Because he thought he knew Casey's weakness, because he thought he knew what Casey was feeling.

Because like Casey, Billy felt the same way about Michael, which was something Casey tried to ignore. Not that he was jealous – what they had wasn't permanent, it wasn't something they thought about, not outside of rooms like this.

Billy nodded, his grin softening a little. Then he reached up, his long fingers cupping Michael's face and turning it back to him. But as he murmured words to Michael, reassuring him, tempting him, he looked back at Casey.

Casey had Michael – he could do what he wanted with Michael's body. But Billy – Billy was in control. Billy was the one who decided what happened when. It was another thing that never happened outside of these rooms, and another thing that Casey found more erotic than he would ever admit, even to himself.

Billy's face disappeared, once more caught up in kissing, but he lifted a hand and waved vaguely. Casey glanced around, not surprised to find what he needed on the nightstand. When it came to some things, Billy was a boy scout.

Control was everything now – and maybe that was why Billy always let Casey do this; Billy knew his limits, and Casey was hard-pressed to believe that Billy could actually go slow enough not to hurt Michael. Or worse, to scare him, to give him cause to think about what was happening.  
Casey, though, could go slow, and he did, slow and steady. They didn't do this often enough for Michael to be practiced; if anything, he was as virginal now as he had been the first time. Casey didn't let himself think about that, though, or about the heat and tightness that surrounded his fingers. He thought only of Michael, of the low moans and occasional whimpers, so unfamiliar to them all, of the way Michael arched back against him when his fingers touched the right place.

Of the way he finally whispered, "Please, of god, please."

The words made his cock ache and it was all he could do to breathe.

"You heard the man," Billy said softly, grinning.

He was still slow, even more careful, up to the point when Michael was pressing back against him, cursing him, and Billy was laughing. Then ended up with Michael on his knees, Billy under him but staring at Casey over Michael's shoulder. Billy's cock found its way into the haven of Casey's hand, all of them moving in time to the rhythm Michael set.

It lasted forever and was over far too soon.

They lay together for a time, Michael on his side, resting mostly on Billy with Casey stretched out behind him. The breeze from the ceiling fan eventually cooled them, and Casey sat up, thinking to pull up the sheet. But as he moved, Michael reached back and caught Casey's hand.

"I'm not losing any of you," he said, his voice raspy.

Casey clasped Michael's hand in his own. "No, you're not. We did good, Michael, all of us. The kid, too."

"The kid, too," Billy seconded, smiling. He turned his head and kissed Michael's forehead, then he looked at Casey. "We're all good. All of us."

Casey nodded and reached down for the sheet. It was awkward at first, working with one hand, but Billy caught the other side, and together, they settled it over all three of them.


End file.
